Shift to Normal
by SilverStarsAndMoons
Summary: Blue boards and blunt words Callie and Izzie reflect on what it means to lose everything. CallieIzzie oneshot fic


**Shift to Normal**

"Okay. This has got to stop, Izzie."

Blue boards – they're really all you've known for the past day, ever since you went into the bathroom to change out of your prom dress and suddenly felt too weak to stand. And it seemed like the easiest thing in the world to sink down onto the cool floor and curl up into a ball, because the world stops in there – it doesn't force you to respond to condolences, or stifle your tears. In fact, you can just close your eyes and remember his gentle smile; his beautiful expressions. For someone with a broken heart, he sure had enough love for two whole ones.

And now there's a black-haired, slightly plus-sized woman that you barely know and don't really care to know, but she's placed herself directly in your line of vision and closing your eyes would be rude. You have a feeling that Meredith and Cristina recruited Callie for the next sit-with-Izzie shift, and you suppose that's fine, after all, she is sort of related to George, and for the first time, you just couldn't take seeing George himself. Callie, at least, isn't looking at you with such pity-filled eyes that you almost want to strike out at her. In fact, right now, she's not looking at you at all. She's just leaning up against the tub, examining her nails, like she has been for the past twenty minutes. It's soothing, really.

You don't even feel like crying. In fact, she's making it easy to say nothing at all and to lie with your eyes closed. Or, she was, until she started talking. Fuck. Now you're going to have to make her get out and you have absolutely no energy at all. The soup and sandwich Meredith brought you at lunchtime is still sitting on its tray by the door. You lie still, but muster the energy to murmur, "Leave, Callie."

She leans forward. "No."

You actually raise your head. "What?"

"No. Because this is ridiculous." She crosses her arms and stares at you defiantly, her dark eyes gleaming. Is she actually enjoying this? You sit up. "I swear to God, if this is going to be some sort of challenge to get Izzie up and out of her prom dress –"

"Relax, it's not. I'm just saying. You're being ridiculous. What is this achieving?"

It's easy to cry in front of Meredith. It's easy to cry in front of Cristina, because you've always felt that they don't judge. This chick's eyes are boring into you and you're determined not to break down, but your eyes aren't at the point where they'll obey you and Callie's unrelenting. Consequently, tears!

Her voice is soft. "You need to do something else besides this. Lie in your bed. Lie on your own floor. Don't do this . . . don't let other people see you like this. You're not crazy – don't give people a reason not to trust your judgement."

When she says it like that, you feel guilty, and it's one more emotion you don't need. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Callie's eyes flash. "Don't be so sure. You don't have the monopoly on grief, you know, Stevens."

You lie back down. "You're going to tell me about your secret pain? You gonna tell me how you lost your fiancé too?" Your voice is bitter, but you don't care. This whole "get Izzie angry" technique is not going to work on you.

"No, because that's not going to achieve anything, either. I'm not here to make you feel better. I'm here to get you to come back to your senses."

"You're a bitch, Callie." You practically spit the words, but she smiles. "Hey. Someone's gotta be."

You get up and crawl towards her, getting up in her face. "Maybe people think I'm nuts. Fuck, I think I'm nuts. Who else is so blinded by love that they'd jeopardize their whole career for their lover? Who else would lie on a bathroom floor for hours, going over the whole thing in their head? Who else? Who else?" Your voice breaks, you cover your face with your hands, and you feel Callie's warm hands on your shoulders.

"Don't. You don't get to play the blame game, here." She gives you a little shake. "Come on, Izzie." Her voice is so low, so empathetic, that you suddenly sob. "Who else is going to blame me? He never would, he just let me do it . . . he trusted me completely."

Callie puts her arms around you and before you know it, you're crying into her soft shoulder and she's rubbing your back. "Oh, _mija_. Okay, okay." You sob so hard that your stomach hitches. "I'm going to be sick," you whisper, but Callie hears you and shifts you to the toilet, thankfully right beside the bathtub. You throw up what meager contents are left from the alcohol and cheese you had last night at the prom and then slump back, wiping your eyes. Callie flushes for you and supports you again.

"You think I'm a bitch, Izzie. That's okay. You couldn't go on like this and no one was going to tell you that." You nod quietly, your voice cracked. "They're scared when I'm not bright and shiny."

"I'm never bright and shiny," she replies. You kneel in front of the sink and brush the sour taste from your mouth. Everything's so much easier when you're under four feet high. When you turn back, she's there to help you back to the floor. Suddenly, you don't want to lie there anymore and you stretch out your arms to her. She pulls you up and you kiss her.

Her eyes widen, but she doesn't pull away. In fact, she holds you close and lets it happen, letting you take the lead, you move your hands through her thick shining hair, you trace the softness of her body and those beautiful curves that she's so sensitive about. When you finish kissing her, her eyes are no longer gleaming. They're soft and chocolatey, and completely comfortable.

"I can't go to bed." You state it as a fact, even though suddenly it's all you want to do. But you're on time out, you're in punishment mode, and you need to do some more thinking before you're allowed to get to comfortable again.

She nods, apparently satisfied with your decision. "Okay." She spreads a towel on the floor and you lie on it, and she crosses her legs and lets you put your head in her lap. And there she sits until it's time for someone else's shift.

Whatever has happened before; whatever will happen afterwards, and foreshadowing is a bitch – whatever goes down then or later, you both never mention it. But you carry a satisfaction knowing that of everyone, she's always been straight with you. And she carries the satisfaction that she's done a good thing, even if it was mostly for George.

It won't be mentioned again. Shift and it's finished.


End file.
